The Heir of Griffindor
by BountyHunter92
Summary: What if Harry had been wrong about owning the Elder Wand? What if disarming didn't count? In this canon story these questions will be answered in an adventure i like to think of as the unofficial 8th book
1. Prologue: A Fool's Mistake

Prologue: A Fool's Mistake

A gentle breeze blows through a clearing on the edge of a dense, dark forest. A faint crack disturbs the silent area and a sudden flash of blue light shines from within the forest. Two figures shrouded in black cloaks as dark as the forest itself, emerge out into the clearing. Dragging an unseen object between the two of them they make their way up the clearing towards a castle far off in the distance. As the figures walked the shorter of the to spoke:

"Do you think He will be pleased with us, Father?"

The taller of the two frowned beneath his hood as he considered his companion's question. After a moment he spoke in a slow drawling tone.

"It is hard to say," he sighed. "Our Lord is a master Occlumens, therefore it is hard to discern his emotions. A word of wisdom, Scorpious: while in his presence do not speak unless he addresses you directly. If he is angered, and you will not always know it, he can be unmerciful. He will target you for any reason and I suggest that you give him none. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Father."

"Good. Enough talk now, we're drawing nearer and we must be alert."

The two figures fell silent and continued up the path toward the distant castle. Suddenly the taller of the two figures stopped and threw out his arm halting his companion. The shorter of the two men turned to the taller in confusion. The taller man ignored this and stared straight ahead as if seeing something his companion did not. He bent down and grabbed a rock from the path and hurled it ahead of them. Instead of soaring very far it hit an invisible wall and vanished. The taller man nodded in a satisfied sort of way and rolled up the sleeve of his left forearm. He indicated that his companion do the same and raising their left arms in a sort of salute the moved forward cautiously. As they passed through the invisible barrier blocking their way the air shimmered slightly but nothing else happened. The taller man heaved a sigh of relief and the two men continued forward towards their destination.

Inside the castle a man dressed in black robes sat at a desk in an office. He was middle aged and going bald. The man was gazing at the tip of his wand, eyes unfocused, when suddenly he jumped up startled by a high pitched whining ringing in his ears. He waved his wand at the stone wall and an image appeared of the two cloaked figures outside approaching the castle. He jumped up in alarm and bolted out of the room and down the corridor running as fast as his short legs could go. A short while later, he came to a screeching halt in front of a statue of an evil looking snake.

"Salazar!" he practically shouted at it and instantly the snake sprang to life and slithered aside, as the wall behind it split in two. The man stepped through and sprinted up a slowly revolving spiral staircase behind it and stopped before an oak door with a silver knocker in the shape of a viper. Ignoring the knocker he burst through the door and immediately dropped to the floor as dozens of red and green jets of light flew through the space he had just occupied.

"M' lord it's me! It's Jugson!" the man shouted.

"STOP!" came a high cold cruel voice from the back of the room. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Master," gasped Jugson, kneeling before the enshrouded man. "Two men approach the castle. They have managed to pass the wards meaning-"

"They have the Mark. Interesting..."The man finished, trailing off apparently lost in thought. After a moment he continued. "Well I think it would be appropriate of us to greet our...guests properly. You two! Go and meet our guests and escort them to me!" the two men indicated bowed and slouched out of the room.

Outside the two men reached the front steps leading into the castle. As they moved forward two cloaked figures materialized from the shadows on either side of the door, wands pointed at them.

"Identify yourselves!" one of the men said forcefully.

"Ahhh, Avery," said the taller of the two men, clearly amused by the effect of being recognized so easily had on Avery. "It's good to see that you're still alive"

"Identify yourselves." Avery repeated.

"Just loyal servants of the Dark Lord." replied taller man, still amused.

"We're all servants of the Dark Lord." stated the other man absently. The taller man stiffened at the sound of the second man's voice. He even cringed slightly as Avery barked: "Shut yer gob, Crabbe."

"V-Vincent?" said the taller man in a faltering voice. The man in question looked around, slightly surprised and said: "Draco?"

The tall man lowered his hood, revealing long silvering, pale-blond hair and a pale, pointed face.

"DRACO MALFOY!" bellowed Avery, raising his wand. "I'll kill you, you traitorous basta-"

He was quickly cut off by a right hook to the jaw. he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

"Very nice," Crabbe chuckled glancing at Scorpious, whom was rubbing is knuckles. He turned his attention to Draco Malfoy whom was still frozen in shock. He quickly regained his composure though, for he turned to his son and said: "That was not a wise decision, Scorpious."

"Yes, Father." Scorpious muttered, lowering his own hood as well. He had shoulder-length pale blond hair and cold gray eyes, like his father. His only semblance to his mother was a noticeably darker shade of skin.

Draco turned to Crabbe with a look of surprised confusion on his face. "Tell me-"

"How I survived the Fiendfyre?" interrupted Crabbe. "What you and the others failed to remember in your haste to escape, was that you can alter the Room _while_ inside it. I remember I kept repeating 'make me fireproof' and eventually I was encased in a charmed bubble. Like a bloody hamster ball. Barely made it out alive through a door in the back of the Room. Got burned pretty bad as I was going through the door, though. Cant seem to take out what it creates inside."

As he spoke he lowered his hood revealing heavily scarred skin. His face was so mangled it was hardly recognizable to Draco. His skin was ash white and chalky. His usually flat nose seemed even flatter and his ears had shriveled up to little nubs. His eyes however, were worst of it all. no longer the carefree dull eyes Draco had once known. They were cold, empty and void of emotion. He had a gaze that seemed to freeze your very soul.

"Now," Crabbe said in his usual dull, soft voice. "Enough talk, why are you here?"

"Ah...yes, well," Draco began. "Young Scorpious and I have stumbled across something in our travels that we hope will aid us in our effort in redeeming the damage my parents caused to the Malfoy family name." He indicated the empty space between himself and Scorpious. Crabbe bent forward with a frown and snatched at the air. His hand grasped at something silvery and fluid-like and he pulled it upward, revealing an unconscious man with graying red hair.

"Is that-"

"Yes," Draco stated simply. "We found him hiding in a small village between Limerick and Tipperary."

"Well let us get inside. The Dark Lord is waiting."

Back inside the room at the top of the moving spiral staircase, the two Malfoy's knelt before their Master.

"So Draco," said Voldemort softly, his scarlet eyes gleaming in the light of the fireplace. "You have honored us with your presence. After all those years spent hiding from the wrath of your Lord, with your worthless father and weak-hearted mother, you decide to come here. Surely you must know that there is a...bounty on your family? Dead or alive, I believe."

My Lord I indeed know this," drawled Draco as a few of the Death Eaters snickered at their Master's jibe. "I was forced into hiding after my spineless father and cowardly mother betrayed you. I spent years trying to find a suitable way to redeem my name in your eyes and after Mother died of her 'illness' and Father his 'magical accident', I decided to travel west to train young Scorpious." at this Voldemort's eyes flicked over to Scorpious with a look of mild interest and a hint of curiosity on his face. Draco continued: "After a few years and to my delight, I discovered something that I hoped could possibly please you enough to redeem the name Malfoy and I could once again take my place as a Death Eater."

"Very well," Voldemort said with a slightly amused tone, tearing his gaze from Scorpious' visage and turning his cold red eyes upon Draco. "Show me what it is you so foolishly believe will bring about my forgiveness, that you would risk your new families life by coming here."

At this Draco nodded at Scorpious, whom stooped and removed the Invisibility Cloak from their hostage.

"My Lord," Draco announced proudly. "I present to you, the last known survivor of his family, Undesirable Number One."

Voldemort leaned forward, a cruel smirk twisting his snake-like visage. he drew his legendary wand, pointed it at the red haired man and said: "_Rennervate_"

The man stirred slightly, groaned and mumbled something incoherent. Twice he tried to stand, once making it as far as one knee, before collapsing to the floor. Voldemort flicked his wand, bringing the man to his knees, his arms outstretched to either side of him. The man struggled slightly against the magic holding him, but gave up quickly. He glanced around with a dazed look in his eyes, frowning as he took in his surroundings, his unfocused gaze started to clear as it came to rest on the snake-like face in front of him. The man stared at Voldemort for a full minute before doing something that shocked the entire room of Death Eaters and even Voldemort seemed taken aback.

He giggled.

The man's giggle grew steadily into a chuckle, which grew into loud cackling laughter. His eyes rolled madly around as he continued to laugh like a madman. He didn't seem capable of stopping so Voldemort flicked his wand yet again. The man made an odd spluttering choking sound as the laughter caught in his throat. Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"So... you've managed to be quite a thorn in my side. Freeing enslaved Muggles and Mudbloods alike. Destroyed four of my internment camps, led a rebellion in Paris and Moscow," Voldemort listed the accusations off as a prosecutor would to a murderer. "And my personal favorite: murdering Fenrir Greyback."

The man was grinning from ear to ear through the matted tangle of elbow length graying red hair. He seemed to take pride in the charges he was accused of.

"I will however be gracious enough to be quick and painless in my Judgement IF and only if you divulge any and all information concerning more resistance attempts from my subjects." As Voldemort spoke he flicked his wand for a third time, granting the man his ability to speak again.

The man tilted his head sideways, grinning broadly, as if sizing up the pale Lord in front of him, before clearing his throat to speak:

"Very well Tommy boy," giggled the man. "I'll divulge some interesting information. You," he paused dramatically. "Are an ugly git." And at that he fell back into fits of mad laughter.

"It seems I need to loosen your tongue." Voldemort said his eyes narrowing even further. He slashed his wand through the air and the man's eyes bulged as his tongue started to swell. Just before it hit the ground Voldemort flicked his wand once more and the enormous tongue flew upward smashing it's owner in the face. There was an audible crack as the man's nose broke and began to bleed furiously. Voldemort lowered his wand and the man's tongue resumed it's normal size.

"See, I too can be funny," he said in a dangerous tone as the Death Eaters howled with laughter. The man nodded and began to giggle again, despite the blood drenching his tattered robes. "Now, your last chance."

The man stopped giggling and put on a serious sort of face as if considering Voldemort's threat. He spoke again:

"Yes... there is something... you will die," there was a suddenly silence around the room as he spoke. The man's grin remained but his tone was suddenly harsh and cold. "Your entire army will be taken out with no survivors. A single man, foretold in a prophecy will take you down all on his own." He fell back into giggling madly.

"Who? Give me the name of this man" demanded Voldemort, who knew better than to forsake a prophecy. The man however, ignored him and continued cackling louder and crazier than ever. "Answer me! _CRUCIO_!"

The man writhed around on the ground in apparent agony, yet his mad laughter never seem to falter. His hair flew about wildly as his head rolled, revealing a missing ear. His head sagged forward onto his chest as the curse was lifted. He gave a wheezed giggle before falling into a short coughing fit. After he recovered he started to laugh again.

"Now tell me or I'll torture it out of you."

The man's head was bowed his matted graying red hair was obscuring his face. He chuckled quietly for a moment before speaking:

"You made a fool's mistake all those years ago," he began in a hushed tone. "You thought that because you were right, killing him no longer mattered."

"Who?"

"Harry Potter."

Everyone in the room behind the man seemed to draw breath as one at the mention of the name.

"Then again as I said before... you're a bloody git." Suddenly the man's wrists flicked upwards so that his palms were facing Draco and Scorpious, who were still standing on either side of him. He silently mouthed words and the Malfoy's were blasted into the walls by an unseen force emanating from the man. The man jumped to his feet taking advantage of the sudden confusion. He lunged at Voldemort's throat bellowing "FOR FRED!" He grasped Voldemort's neck and shouted "_CRUCIO_!"

Momentarily Voldemort writhed beneath the man's hands, red eyes wide in shock, before thirty jets of green light hit the man in the back. George Weasley slumped to the ground at Voldemort's feet, a haunting look of triumph in his face, dead.

Voldemort's slit-like nostril began to bleed.

**AN: CHAPTER ONE TO BE UPLOADED SOON**


	2. Chapter One: Hunting

Chapter One: Hunting

Nearly four thousand miles away in the city of Salem, Massachusetts, a man appeared on the edge of an area known as the Commons. The man appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he popped out of the frost covered ground. The man was tall and thin, yet slightly muscular with scraggly shoulder-length jet black hair. He wore a large black trench coat, brown pants, a black fedora and matching boots. Although he didn't appear to be elderly, he leaned slightly against a sleek black cane, gripped tightly in his blood-red dragonhide gloved right hand.

Harry Potter, for that was who the man was, crept through the shadows towards the magnificent bandshell in the center of the park. He ascended the stone steps upon reaching the bandshell and stood bathed in the light from the fixture above. He plunged a gloved hand inside a pocket and withdrew a small silver object similar to a cigarette lighter, and flicked it. The light from above was immediately extinguished and Harry was shrouded in a cloak of darkness. He remained veiled in darkness unmoving, for nearly an hour before showing any sign of movement. He glanced at the sky noting the brilliant orange tip of the sun plummeting behind the buildings. Four men were walking through the park toward the bandshell when Harry looked away from the sun. The two men in the middle were shorter than the others. The men seemed to be having a heated discussion. As they came closer to Harry he could begin to make out their expressions. The Short Fat and Short Thin men seemed terrified at their company. The Short Fat man was sweating profusely and the Short Thin Man's eyes were darting around wildly. The Tall Thin man was glaring at the Short men and cracking his knuckles threateningly. The Tall Large man was speaking to the Short men as he slowly advanced toward them. The Short Thin man said something in response and the Tall men began to laugh. The Short Thin man smiled weakly but the Short Fat man began to back away quickly. The Tall Thin man saw him and stuck out his leg tripping the man up. The Short Thin man's smile vanished and he turned and ran off. The Tall Large man caught up with him in three great strides, seized him around the waist and heaved him to the ground. He put one knee into the man's chest to hold him down and began pummeling him with his fists. The Tall Thin Man had The Short Fat man in a headlock and was striking him in the stomach. Harry frowned disapprovingly but made no move to assist the men. He had to be sure... He didn't have to wait long as the Tall Large man yelped in pain and surprise and scrambled off of his victim. The Tall Thin man tossed aside his victim and rushed to his companion to see what happened. The Short Thin man was on his feet and he was grinning through a blackened eye and bloody nose. The Tall Thin man scowled and threw a punch at the man's face. The Short Thin man caught his fist in his left hand and, still grinning, retaliated sinking his right fist into the Tall Thin man's stomach. The Tall Thin man fell to his knees spluttering.

At that moment a cloud passed over the moon obstructing Harry's vision. As it passed one of the men yelled in terror and as the light shone down Harry saw the one man on the ground still clutching his stomach. His companion however, the one that had shouted, was looking in the direction that the two Short men had taken flight. Harry followed his gaze and saw two figures sprinting back towards them. Except as they approached Harry noticed that the men were no longer short. Nor did they seem frightened. The wore matching feral grins and they were sprouting coarse brown hair all over. Another cloud passed and their transformation was complete. Two full grown werewolves were sprinting toward the Tall men, both frozen in fear. Harry sprang to action, leapt down the steps and sprinted toward the two men cowering nearby. As much as he would have liked to leave them to their fates, he knew that at least one would be infected rather than killed. He reached the men just as the nearest werewolf leaped into the air. In one swift motion Harry pressed a switch on his cane, tripling it in length, planted his feet in a firm stance, knees bent slightly and swung his cane upwards through the air. With a sharp smack, he caught the werewolf on his side knocking him to the left. He didn't falter however, as the other werewolf lunged, Harry followed through swinging the cane in an arc and slashing down catching him in the shoulder knocking him to the right. They both lay stunned on the ground but Harry knew it wouldn't be for very long.

"Run you fools!" Harry barked wheeling around to find the two large men still frozen in fear behind him. "You should have known better than be out this late with two strange men during these times, let alone on the night of a full moon!"

The two men regained their senses and took off running like madmen. Harry felt movement behind him and instinctively swung his cane. There was a yelp as he turned and saw one of the werewolves fall to the ground. He seemed to have attempted to lunge at the escaping men. Before it got the chance to recover Harry dealt it a sharp blow to the base of his skull rendering him unconscious. Just as he turned to face the other it collided full speed into Harry's side knocking him twelve feet through the air before landing with a thud and knocking the air from his lungs and the cane from his hand. Harry gasped for air but what little he regained was lost again as the werewolf landed on his chest. His vision swam and spots appeared before his eyes. He felt an excruciating pain in his shoulder as the werewolf's claw carved away a sizable chunk of flesh. He drew back his fist in desperation and sank it into the wolf's stomach. It reared onto its hind legs and Harry, taking advantage of this, folded his legs so his knees were against his chest and pushed out, knocking the werewolf back a few feet. Wasting no time Harry sprang up, seized his cane and doing a kind of twirl spun around and caught the werewolf at the base of its skull with the cane; It fell to the ground,unconscious. Glancing around Harry could barely make out two faint silhouettes retreating in the distance as well as the other werewolf still unconscious. Harry reached into one of his large front pockets of his trench coat and removed an immense length of rope that he used to bind the werewolves. They were bound back to back with a special knot that allowed Harry to tighten the loop by pulling the end of rope in his hand. He pulled out two hypodermic needles from another pocket each filled with a clear colorless liquid. He removed the caps and injected each werewolf in the neck. The effect was instantaneous; both wolves regained conciousness and started howling and writhing in agony and began to struggle against the ropes. Harry merely pulled the end in his hand tightening the loop. The werewolves continued to howl as their fur receded into their body and their skin bubbled as their transformation was forcibly reversed. A moment later the reversal had finished and the two Short men were back to normal albeit a few lumps and bruises. The pain made the Short Fat man faint. As the Short Thin man's eyes fluttered closed Harry leaned toward his face, and with a big grin growled: "Lycanthropy's a bitch, isn't it?"

The task of carrying two fully grown adult men that were unconscious would have been daunting to any average person. But Harry Potter wasn't your average man. Born years ago, the only child to a very talented witch and wizard, he had lived for the better part of a year in their care. And then on that fateful Hallow's Eve night, he showed up and ended what could only be described as the happiest life that Harry could've had. The most powerful Dark wizard of all time. All because of the foolishness of several men. And the most foolish of them all, placed Harry in a home where he would spend the next ten years enduring the various forms of abuse from his only living relatives; they feared and despised magic so they kept the knowledge a secret from him. Then when Harry turned eleven his life changed drastically. He found out that he was a wizard and would attend a school of magic to learn and control it. Harry then spent the next six years learning magic, making friends and having adventures, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft an Wizardry, all the while growing stronger. He discovered in that time, he was famous for being the only wizard known to have survived an Unforgiveable Killing Curse. During his fourth year Harry witnessed the rebirth of the dark wizard that killed his parents, Lord Voldemort. Then at the end of his fifth year the Wizarding World was plunged into a war. After learning of a prophecy Harry had been shown the past of Voldemort and the reason he was able to return: Horcruxes. Seven magical Dark Artifacts containing pieces of Voldemort's soul. So he had spent what would have been his seventh year finding and destroying them all. And he learned about the Deathly Hallows...those goddamn Deathly Hallows...he thought bitterly.

But he didn't like to think of it...that time in the past. He gave one final heave as he dragged the two werewolves to his destination. A larger than average motorcycle lay concealed in the bushes on the edge of the commons. He heaved the men into the sidecar and bound the end of the rope to a metal bracket on the inside edge of the sidecar. After making sure the rope was secure at both ends, Harry mounted the bike and started it. The motorcycle roared to life, the rumble of the engine echoing throughout the commons. Harry reached into a pouch around his neck and removed a slip of parchment; He glanced at it and then put it back in his pocket. He looked up at the stars as if he were reading a map, before pressing the throttle and accelerating. The bike roared and shot up into the air. The muffled cries that were barely audible above the rumbling engine told Harry that the werewolves had come to. Harry allowed himself a small smirk. "This is gonna be a hell of a ride." He muttered as he punched the throttle, shooting forward into the night the shouts of his captives drowned out by the roar of the engine.

The motorcycle gave an almighty lurch as it descended to the deserted dead-end road below. The bike bumped slightly as it touched down, coasting slowly to a stop. Harry steered it into some tall unkempt grass on the edge of the road. He flipped a switch killing the engine instantly. One of the men attempted to escape, but with the weight of his companion and being disoriented by the ride, all he managed to do was trip and fall out of the sidecar, bringing his companion down on top of him. Harry ignored them and once again consulted the piece of parchment from within the pouch around his neck. He glanced at the starry sky again and pulled a black butane lighter with a gold insignia of a flaming bird out of his pocket. He flipped open the top, separating the head of the bird from it's body, and flicked the flintwheel. Harry held the flame against the slip of parchment until it ignited, then closed the lighter extinguishing its flame. The slip of parchment curled in his palm as the fire devoured it leaving the ash to float away on a gentle breeze. He glanced over at the werewolves still struggling to get to their feet. He dug his hand into another pocket, and after a few seconds he pulled out a large handkerchief and another length of rope. He tore the handkerchief in half and used the two halves to blindfold the two werewolves. Then he took the rope and retied the men separately so they could walk unhindered. After assuring they couldn't see or escape, Harry spoke:

"Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way; the easy way being I lead and you follow and the hard being me waiting for the serum I injected you with to wear off, you both to transform back, and me inject you again. And since we have several hours of moonlight left by my calculations, I can put you through that excruciating pain four more times. Six if I don't take a break. So I'm only going to ask once: will it be the easy way?"

Both men, pale as the moon in the sky, gulped and nodded their heads in response. Cowards, Harry thought to himself as he dug once more into a pocket of his trench coat, this time removing a silver flask with the same gold insignia as the lighter. Part of him was hoping for resistance, for some excuse to put these filthy animals through excruciating pain. But he knew he mustn't, knew that it wasn't a requirement of this job, that his current mission was to retrieve with minimal force. So Harry resisted the urges, took a large gulp from the flask, grabbed the two ends of the rope and set off up the road, scanning houses as he went. The usual writhing feeling in his stomach set in followed by what used to be a burning sensation, now was just a slight tingling. The 'melting feeling' as his skin bubbled was still there but it didn't affect him like it once did. So as he stopped in front of the correct house he no longer looked as he normally did, but as a large burly man with a square jaw and thick eyebrows. Harry gazed curiously at the large blue stucco house before him. This job, like so many before, had been anonymous. Just three days ago a large screech-owl came to him, bearing a slip of parchment requesting his services. And as he always did, sent a reply with his fee. Twenty-four hours later the owl returned with another slip of parchment stating money was no object and listed the names and ailment of the targets and a drop off address. Harry wasted no time in tracking them down. He couldn't help but wonder who-or what could want two full-grown werewolves. But it wasn't his job to know these things; he knew this when he began this business. He supressed a smile at the irony of incorporating the rule he detested in his childhood made by his aunt and uncle, into his business. Don't ask questions.

So it was with a small amount of effort that he pushed these thoughts from his mind, gave the two ends of the ropes a hearty tug and set off up the short path to the front door. There was no doorbell visible so Harry raised a large fist and rapped on the door three times, making the windows rattle. Harry waited a moment, before raising a fist again, but stopped as he heard movement from inside. Harry continued to wait but apparently, whatever was behind the door clearly wasn't going to open it. And sure enough, a moment later, a hoarse, slightly hysterical voice called through the door:

"W-who's there? What do you want?"

"I'm here to make a delivery." Harry replied in a gruff voice. There was a series of clicks as the door unlocked and Harry stepped back as a wand came out of the door first. It was followed by a short man with a gray beard and not much hair on his head. He looked vaguely familiar to Harry. The man kept his wand trained on Harry's chest near his heart as he sized Harry up.

"Who are you?" The old man said suspiciously.

"I'm the man you hired."

"Well?"

"I have them." Harry said.

"Y-you have them? So soon?" The old man said surprised.

"Yes. Now where should I put them?" Harry replied offhandedly.

"Bring them round to the cellar." The man said indicating the left side of the house.

"Right." Harry replied and he tugged the rope once more around the corner to the cellar door. As he approached he heard another series of clicks and then the stormdoors flew open. He pulled them inside the cellar and saw the man lighting an oil lamp on a small workbench. He saw Harry and pointed to a chain attached to an iron peg in the floor. Harry pulled the wolves over to the chain and bound them with it. He pocketed the rope and glanced around the room. There were no windows but he saw two steel chairs with iron clasps welded to the floor by magic. He saw a series of sinister looking objects on the workbench as he approached the short old man. The old man looked at Harry and pulled a money bag out of his pocket. Harry accepted it and pulled out a two vials and disposable needles.

"Ten more galleons for these and you can sedate them both for an hour."

"Good." He took them and pulled out a second money bag. He handed Harry the Galleons and Harry bowed and left the basement. Harry stopped outside and made a quick decision and removed from yet another pocket, a very long fleshed colored piece of string. Stuffing one end in his ear as the other wriggled through a small gap in the door Harry listened intently to the voice inside:

"...filthy animals. You want to know why? Because you killed my son Zacharias and infected my grandson. And now your going to pay."

Harry's heart skipped a beat as he realized why this man seemed so familiar. This must be the father of Zacharias Smith, an old acquaintance of Harry's from Hogwarts. Harry had never really liked Zacharias but for him to be killed by werewolves; Harry could never wish that on him. Harry yanked the Extendable Ear out from the gap in the door. He turned to leave and made to put the Extendable Ear back in his pocket when a muffled noise came from the kitchen. The window was cracked a fraction of an inch so he stuffed the Ear into it and listened:

"...still missing. Hopefully he has just disappeared to do more for the rebellion. And finally the Chief Death Eater is supposedly rumored to be abroad for the first time in many years. But don't get comfortable folks it most likely won't be for long even if it's true. Well that concludes another Rebelwatch; next password will be 'Lily.'"

Harry pulled out the Extendable Ear and stuffed it into his pocket. So the slimy bastard was leaving the castle for once. Harry was so enveloped in thought that by the time he was aware of his surroundings he was up in the air flying in the wrong direction. He spun around and zoomed over Zacharias' father's house. As he flew back over the house he heard, or perhaps imagined he heard a muffled scream of pain. Turning the motorcycle northward his thoughts turned to Zacharias Smith. The boy he disliked in school was murdered by those two werewolves. And his child had been infected. This was the result of the world he lived in; families being torn apart by werewolves and Death Eaters. It drove Harry crazy but there was little he could do about it these days. The years he spent in exile learning martial arts in a monastery in China could only help him in physical combat. Not magical.

Shaking off the horrible feeling of helplessness he descended through the air towards the road below. He touched down with a little thump and backed the motorcycle into the small shed next to the house. He hopped of the bike and leaned against his cane as he stared at the large maroon house that none but two could see. He hobbled to the back door unused to his overly large body. As Harry entered the house the sneakoscope on the counter started to whistle and spin. Harry glanced at the cracked mirror on the kitchen wall but didn't see anything unusual, so he tossed the sneakoscope into the drawer muffling the sound. He was sure it would stop when the Polyjuice wore off. Harry felt his shoulder throb and he glanced down and saw a dark stain seeping through his shirt. He walked to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of Firewhisky. He pulled off the cap and took a swig, before pulling off his shirt. The wound on his shoulder was frightening to behold; it was deep and roughly the size of a tennis ball. Harry gritted his teeth and poured Firewhisky onto it. He drew breath sharply as the whiskey stung but cleaned his wound. He reached in a drawer and pulled out a sewing needle and thread and stitched what he could of the wound shut. He grabbed a rag and cleaned off the blood and then tied it around his arm tightly. That should take care of what he couldn't stitch. Harry heaved a sigh as his shoulder throbbed less painfully then it had before. He grabbed a glass, poured himself a drink and gulped it down. Two more times he did this before he moved into the sitting room with his fourth glass. There was a loud, grunting snore as he entered and he looked down at the man sleeping on the couch. The man's hair was thinning and was flaming red flecked through with gray. He had a slightly lined face with a graying goatee. He was tall and thin with a pair of spectacles resting askew on his face and he was clutching a picture frame in his hands. Harry bent down and gently pulled the picture out of the man's hand. He glanced down at the photo before setting it on the mantle over the fireplace. It was one he knew well: a much younger version of the man on the couch, completely void of gray hair, which was long and full. He was smiling up at Harry and standing beside a girl normally with bushy brown hair, here sleeked down and in a bun. The girl was wearing a white dress and was holding a bouquet of roses. She too was beaming at Harry. On either side of them were two people Harry recognized as well. Beside the girl in the dress was a very attractive red-haired girl who was stealing glances at the young dark-haired handsome youth beside the groom. Harry had been much happier then, and there was even a time where he would have felt a yearning for the red-haired girl he had so loved then. But that was the Harry in the picture; he no longer felt any of this. He drained his glass and turned away from the picture. Memories of a past that no longer seemed to be his. He knew that it was his past but felt disconnected from it. Harry threw a blanket over Ron Weasley's sleeping form, poured himself a final drink, then slumped into his room. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow, his sleep as he knew, would be punctuated with awful dreams. He may be disconnected with his past when he was awake, but it seemed when he slept there was no escaping it.


End file.
